


Sehnsucht

by drinkbloodlikewine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Frustration, Longing, Masturbation, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sehnsucht</i> is a German noun translated as "longing", "yearning", or "craving".</p><p>Alana imagines what might have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sehnsucht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cognomen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/gifts).



> my contribution for June to [The Hannibal Artist Collective Charity Auction](http://hannibal-acca.tumblr.com) \- they have permission to post this work on their pages!
> 
> interested in getting Hannibal fics or fanart in exchange for helping puppies? [here's how you can find out more!](http://www.gofundme.com/9hqvpc)

_We know where we are with each other. Shouldn't that be enough?_

Alana sighs.

She toes her heels off one at a time, feet hanging off the edge of her bed, each landing with a satisfying thump against the carpet.

It had been enough, in the moment. Enough that she couldn’t do more than observe the overt look shared between them, enough that she couldn’t make herself say that in fact, it wasn’t at all enough. A knowledge and a newfound intimacy secreted away from her to a place she couldn’t reach even if she tried, from two people that she’d trusted, each in turn, to be open with her.

She sits up, frowning, to shrug out of her coat and sling it across the bed alongside her before collapsing back again.

Will had stayed after she left. Wished her well in a passive way and turned back into the house not with a sense of obligation but with a sense of ownership that felt foreign to her, in all their interactions. Of himself, certainly, regained after his release, but also the situation at hand, whatever it is.

Alana rubs her fingers into her eyes and catches a frustrated noise behind her hand.

She knows, if she’s honest with herself here, now, when she’s not being cast out so effortlessly from the hidden places they’re building together. She knows. How hard Hannibal must work to hide it from her, those nights when she leaves before Will and assumes he goes home after her, until tonight when he obviously did not.

For a moment Alana wonders if this is how Will feels. Unwelcome images prying into her mind and causing her pulse to quicken, and she pities him for it, the cruelty of such an existence where you can’t stop yourself from seeing the things you’d rather not be forced to acknowledge.

“Denial isn’t a weakness,” she reminded Hannibal, once. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

“And when denial begins to affect others? To put them in danger,” he responded, bringing his nose alongside hers and capturing her words beneath his mouth. “At that point, it no longer serves its purpose and has become a blockage. This must be removed to allow for clearer sight. Clearer understanding. It puts one at risk of harm to be blind to the situations around them.”

It’s amusing, in retrospect, that she hadn’t replied to Hannibal, instead choosing to pull him closer to her again. To join her fingers at the back of his neck and silence his mouth with hers, instead, and to let herself believe that he wasn’t talking as much about her as he was Will.

She asks herself why this nearness, after everything, after so much spite slung like daggers through prison bars. Undeniable fascination, attraction between them since the first time she’d seen them together, and while Hannibal’s interest as his therapist was clear enough, his insistence on remaining so involved - in light of the peculiar intensity with which Will has been overcome…

Alana stops herself. Draws a breath. Neither of them - none of it - makes sense and they’ve both made it clear that they’ve no intention to explain it to her.

To include her at all, really.

She reaches out to snare up the glass of wine she poured before doing anything else and takes a long drink. A bottle that Hannibal had given her, when she’d taken a liking to it despite her general distaste for red wine.

It tastes of him, and she frowns.

Early on their fingers would graze together, deliberate touches shared discreetly even when they were the only ones in the house, and she observed with fascination the flourishes he applied to food that transformed them into extraordinary things.

“Surgeons,” she had muttered into her glass, and he met her eyes with amusement.

Dinners as preludes to more, table scarcely cleared before Hannibal’s mouth pressed dry against her own, meeting her lips at perfect angles and lingering soft. Restrained, tender compared to how Will had kissed her, with a tangible eagerness in the way he leaned into her, open-mouthed and driving.

She remembers just as keenly how she had responded to both, in their own way, and a soft sigh parts her lips. Her fingers loosen the buttons on her shirt, tug the zipper lower on her skirt and find their way beneath the heavy wool, gliding soft against the skin of her stomach.

A sigh parts her lips. Hannibal’s arm wrapped around her stomach to tug her back against him. A broad hand sliding across her belly to explore lower still. She grins a little, feeling the soft cotton panties beneath her fingers, shifting aside as they had when she turned her cheek back against his shoulder and offered a shy apology for not wearing something fancier.

Something that would suit his tastes, as Will too had taken to doing the more time they spent together. Tailored coat and expensive scarf and combed hair that still falls loose into his eyes. Each willing to turn themselves into something befitting of Hannibal, of the carefully curated existence of which they imagine themselves a part.

Will’s fingers were coarser, calloused from his hobbies and from the rough life he visited as much on himself as was given to him. Pressing fierce against her cheeks as he pulled her mouth to his with an aching hunger, for contact, for company, for her in particular. They would feel just the same as hers do now, pressing through the curls of hair and against herself, to rub firm circles with fingertips and demand a response.

She yields it, shivering, and breathes his name just to hear how it might have sounded passed between them if she had let herself be as moved by Will’s insistence as she considered doing at the time. Had considered more than once, if she’s honest. Considers now, adding a second finger to curl against herself.

Both, now, both opposing as if mirror images of the other, incomprehensible but open in the way they’ve always each watched her. Admiration and desire, fondness and distance.

Alana turns, twists her body meeting no resistance in the movement of her hips, imagines them beneath silk sheets and shivers with the sensation cool and sleek against her bare skin. She turns to draw herself to warmth instead. Hannibal’s heart, so hard to stir from its steady pace even beneath her fingertips as they tease across a nipple, twist in soft curls of hair.

A moan aches free and resonates within her, drawn from the press of one finger, then two, moving slow and patient. Unhurried, Hannibal watches with interest as a shiver courses through her. A soft sound, pleased, to see his former student unbridled beneath his hands. She glows for him, when he watches her like this, cheeks burning warmth that carries throughout her and wraps tingling through her limbs, and she knows with a deeper press of her fingers that he only shares that look with her.

And one other.

Her own soft sounds, catching and rising at the end of every breath, until she takes up a slow rhythm inside herself and another low noise curls past her lips, merging into the sensation of Will’s hands grasping her hips. They press firm with want as they slide up over her ribs in appreciation before his arms wrap over her, around her, to pull her back against him and feel the weight of her breasts against his arms.

Between them, now, as she tried to place herself at dinner with her questions, now insinuated between them to envision that from which she was summarily excluded.

Will grins, sudden and bright, as Hannibal leans past her, not to kiss the profiler yet but to come close. They press their foreheads together, noses brushing, and lips moving near enough to tease, a fierce familiarity. Hannibal’s hand curls in Will’s hair and he moans in response when Hannibal’s fingers pull tight, to draw a curve from him and finally press their mouths together.

Alana’s back arches, eyes fluttering closed to see them more clearly.

Ferocity building in the movement of their mouths. Will catches Hannibal’s lip between his teeth and tugs, earning a growl that Alana’s never heard before, and as Hannibal moved him, so Will catches the curls of her hair and pulls. She gasps, lips parting only for her breath to be trapped by Hannibal’s roughening kiss.

Will presses against her back, firm chest and firmer hips grinding with want, with need for them both. He runs the back of his fingers down Hannibal’s cheek, trailing fingertips where her mouth joins Hannibal’s, and Will buries his face in the curve of her neck to kiss hungry, open-mouthed until she shivers from the intensity of it.

She smiles a little, lips parted breathless, to find that Will is the more aggressive of the two. Seeking out contact rather than avoiding it for his own amusement as Hannibal does so often, instead absorbing every motion and sound and grasping for more. Hannibal is unruffled, unshakeable, appearing pleased as Will slides his hand between Alana’s legs, fingers gliding slick against her.

Movement on all sides, sighs and gasps and whimpers so tangled together that she’s not sure which sounds are her own. Grasping, pulling, each for want of the other two to themselves, each unwilling to share for more than a moment as the rhythm builds fast. Will’s hand on Hannibal, stroking slow and Hannibal teasing Alana’s nipples before reaching around to slide a hand around the curve of Will’s ass and press him closer to Alana. She slings a leg over Hannibal, to join them, this a familiar motion of languid undulations that Will syncs with as effortlessly as he does all things.

They’re beautiful together, not only them but all three in tandem, uncertainty outweighed by long-resisted desires that make the fumbling alignments and little laughs that much sweeter for it. No longer separated, no longer excluded, all of them keenly aware of the others’ energies and feeding from them, drinking them intoxicating and heady. Alana bites her lip and whimpers loud as she envisions Will pressing between her thighs and inside, Hannibal on his knees behind him and rocking hard into Will, that moment that darkness gathers behind her eyelids and explodes outwards again.

Her fingers drive deep and hold their harried pace and she bridges up onto her shoulders with the tension that snaps her tight, breath held in silence.

She doesn’t know whose name she says when it happens. In the end, it doesn’t really matter.

The coiled release spins free just as quickly and she uncurls back onto the bed, pressing against her own hand to drag the release out as long as she can, heart shuddering in time with the dizzying waves of pleasure that curl her toes against the sheets. It slows in increments, her pulse and the movement of her hips and fingers, slows as the cool air settles against the wine-flushed warmth of her cheeks and she opens her eyes, to find herself alone.

_Shouldn't that be enough?_

Alana sighs.


End file.
